


Where You Belong

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, dc era, dominant Ben Wyatt, no beta who cares we are just vibing in the smut house, smutty smut smut, some Dom and sub action, submissive Leslie Knope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 04:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30032919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: When Leslie visits Ben in DC, she's swarmed with thoughts of inadequacy thanks to a parade of tall brunettes and bureaucracy. Ben can't have that.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Where You Belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mouseratstan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/gifts).



> Ben Wyatt is a dom club rejoice!!! Okay but also enjoy. Again I blame twitter for this, mostly Ro. <3

No one questions why she’s there. 

Why would they?

She walks through the office, daylight coming through the endless sea of desks and windows, high backed and luxurious desk chairs and half eaten lunches scattered along the open room. The sun is starting it’s descent, but even the almost empty office seems to thrive, bright and important. 

Unlike her. A small town nobody who can’t get a meeting, can’t get a minute with her boyfriend, can’t even introduce herself without a look back that screams, “ _You?_ ”

Someone, an intern maybe, someone who will be making more figures than her and talking to more important people than her in the matter of months, looks up at her but glances away when they see she isn’t anyone of importance. She smiles politely at the back of their head anyway.

Leslie walks through Ben’s office doorway, the door left open. She walks around his desk, fingertips on the surface, eyes lingering around his organized document piles, closed padfolios, pens capped and placed in their holder or straight along the edge of an iPad. 

There is one picture of her in his office, which does make her heart skip a little, almost lightens her shoulders. She looks at the photo, her and Ben at the Harvest Festival. She wonders what they’d be doing in Pawnee if he wasn’t here. Maybe they’d be spending weekends cleaning the river themselves; she’d bribe him with coffee and showering together afterward. 

She sits in Ben’s chair, places her elbows on the desk and watches the soft ebb and flow of the office outside. No one pays attention to her as they take calls and type quietly. Sometimes someone returns with coffee, sometimes a janitor comes in to collect trash. Copies are made and staplers are working and she keeps hearing the distinct beeps and rings of phones receiving emails and phone calls. She likes the rhythm of it, if she’s honest. She could see herself in a fast paced environment like this, even if it isn’t entirely her. 

It is completely Ben.

Organized, strict, disciplined Ben. She misses him so much. Is so jealous of every intern and staffer who gets to see him everyday, can listen to his bright ideas and brainstorm with him. She misses turning in bed to ask him about something and him placing pieces together as the sleep threatens to take him between each brilliant idea. She misses him telling her to go to bed when she’s elbow deep in a proposal or frantically reading the last 100 pages of a mystery novel by the light of her cellphone. She misses the way he held her tight on Sunday mornings, begging for breakfast in bed and to let him whisper things against her skin while his fingers pushed inside her. 

The office begins to empty, people still walking past in the halls, but only two staffers sit quietly by the door, discussing something in excited whispers. One of them is entirely too tall, too thin, too beautiful. She has brown hair that is simply put up in something that looks both professional and casual, not a hair out of place or a smudge of her makeup along her perfect, youthful face even though it’s the end of the work day. She looks at her phone and laughs, turning the screen toward the other person and they share an eye roll and a giggle and everything about this moment reminds Leslie of sitting in the high school cafeteria. Her food was half eaten while she wrote her student council president election speech and girls who were too perfect laughed only a few feet away, acting like she didn’t exist. 

She thinks of the women Ben had to introduce her to earlier. Was he embarrassed that he had nothing to say about her? Did he cringe when she said she was merely a councilwoman? That she wasn’t even from DC, that her Uncle wasn’t Senator Sherrod Brown or she was never a student of Senator Elizabeth Warren’s? She didn’t go to Georgetown and she’s almost 40 and she only just learned how to do a smokey eye. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have come here. It’s not like Ben has had time for her anyway.

“Leslie?”

She blinks and tilts her head up. Ben stands in the doorway. The lights are dimmer, the sun almost completely gone now. How long had she been sitting here? Has she sat still for this long before? Ever?

“Hi,” Leslie says, her throat a little tight from self loathing and lack of use.

Ben’s head tilts as he takes a step inside his office, eyebrows coming together just enough for her to recognize that concern he shows just for her. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, but before she can answer, he keeps going. “You said we were meeting at my apartment.”

She shrugs in response. There’s a silence that follows that feels cold and searching, but she doesn’t go looking. Maybe she’s waiting to be found, sometimes all she wants is for him to find her. 

Leslie is playing with the corner of a padfolio, but she can feel the shift in him. There’s a move in his hips, a straightening to his back. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand move to rub at his jaw and she can imagine the way his lip rolls between his teeth before he exhales. 

Leslie’s throat tightens, tears threatening to slip, but she just stares at the corner of that padfolio, her thumbnail continuing its push and pull on the leather. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” he says. 

Leslie closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Leslie,” he warns. 

She remains silent and something builds. A frustration within him, a descent into something sad and small for her. They both wait until Ben takes another step and his voice softens when he speaks, light with empathy and deep with concern.

“I’m sorry about the meeting today, if I knew, I could--”

“It’s fine.”

Another pause. She can feel him evaluating her, his gaze is searing along the entirety of her being.

“It’s not fine. You had a meeting scheduled. This town is full of bullshit like that. I’m sorry it happened.” His exhaustion with bureaucracy mixes with something sharp in his tone.

“Who cares.”

He is rounding the desk now. “You care. I care.”

Ben’s fingers slide along hers, halting the dance her fingers have been doing against leather. He brings her hand away, turning her with the swivel of his chair. He places her hand in her lap and she swallows as his hand moves to her chin, a finger pushing up until she’s forced to look up at him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says. There’s no question in his voice, the concern along his brow is still there, but his eyes are dark and strong, unwavering.

Leslie presses her lips together and shakes her head again. His thumb joins his index finger on her chin and holds it firm and she’s almost certain if she says anything she’s going to cry.

“Leslie.”

She swallows, eyes darting out to the office, wondering who is watching them like this.

“Babydoll,” he says, lower. Her eyes snap back to him. “Tell me.”

“I… I…” she closes her eyes and sighs because yes, she is crying now. “I just--I--”

“Deep breath.”

She takes a deep breath, the deepest she can muster at the moment, and Ben takes this time to wipe the tears from her cheeks. 

“I feel so stupid,” she starts. Ben’s hand moves from her chin to cradle her in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. “Ever since I got here I’ve felt completely stupid.” She sniffs and takes another deep breath and he whispers praise. “You’ve been busy running around from meeting to meeting, taking phone calls and talking to powerful people.”

“I’m sorry for that,” he says, kneeling down so they are eye level. 

She nods and shrugs, face skewing as she fights more tears. She wishes she was more put together, prettier, for him. She loathes herself for thinking it, but can’t deny her own feelings.

“It’s okay,” she says.

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” He wipes at her tears again.

She sniffs again and moves his hands to wipe her own cheeks, pressing fingers under her eyes. “God, and now I look… I look like a mess.”

“You’re beautiful,” Ben whispers, fighting her touch to wipe her tears as if it would be an honor for him to do it for her. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Leslie,” he says, hands stopping their tear wiping quest, voice dropping to something harsh and unforgiving. Almost a warning.

But a damn breaks in her throat and she can’t help every single thought that spills from her lips.

She starts with the meeting because it feels like where she teetered off the edge. Seeing Ben briefly before he hurried off to a meeting was what led her on the path, but she skips it. She knew, and it wasn’t the tipping point so why even say it. Then she crumbles with the weight of every tall, successful brunette that came across their path at that party and every time someone mistook her for the help or as an intern or a tourist. She spills, gushing about how stupid it is to even say she’s a councilwoman, maybe it’d be better to just say she works for the Parks department, or maybe she misses saying her job with pride, when really she feels like she’s drowning under red tape and corruption every day due to her new job. 

And the women, did she mention the women? They’re all gorgeous and dress like they just stepped out of an updated version of the West Wing and why do tired organizers even look so put together and lips shiny and hair done so well? They look at Ben like he’s hung the moon and he is proud to say all they do here in this town of accomplishment and nepotism. She misses him and he looks so good here, he feels natural here and she’s going to lose him, because why would he stay with a councilwoman from a nowhere town in Indiana when he can spend his days here, sweating in this swamp town while he gets people elected and senators know him by name and reputation and get him on their team the next time they have to run for reelection? 

She brings up another girl, for some reason they are all named Rebecca and Ben, sweet, patient Ben, finally stops her.

“Leslie.”

She stops and finally breathes again. Her heart is pounding and the tears are sliding, but she focuses up, up into his eyes. They demand her attention and she gives it, even as more reasons pile up in her head and want so, so badly to keep coming out.

His fingers glide along her chin again, tracing the apple of her cheek and pushing a piece of hair back from her face.

“Hey, stop,” Ben says, voice softer this time, thumb brushing her eyebrow before he softly taps her temple with his index finger. “Quiet in there.”

She swallows and tries to slow her mind down, push out everything, but if there’s one thing that’s always true about Leslie Knope, it’s that once she’s on her own personal rollercoaster, it’s hard for her to get off.

Ben knows that, though. 

He tsks and gives a small shake of his head as his eyes trail down her face and sweep along her body before coming back up to her gaze. Her heart starts to pound again, this time in a rhythm that’s usually reserved for being near Ben Wyatt.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Ben says, pushing more stray hairs away from her face, “about that meeting. I know it wasn’t my fault, but it isn’t fine, and it’s fucked, so I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

Leslie takes a deep breath, listens, as his fingers delicately touch her face as pieces of her hair are pushed away.

“And.” Ben’s gaze roams again and each spot those dark, coffee eyes touch feels like it’s starting to burn. “I’m fucking furious.” His hand slips into her hair until it rests at the back of her neck. His fingers grip, the pressure building as he speaks. “At myself.”

“You didn’t--”

“I did. I made you think” -- he shakes his head, an angry laugh escaping his lips -- “that I wanted anyone except you.”

“No--”

“Leslie.” His fingers push up into her hair at the back of her head and tighten in her curls. She gasps. “I did. I ignored you, introduced you to women who don’t fucking matter.”

He lifts her from the grip on her hair and she follows, like putty in his hands, exhausted from her day, her mind, and grateful to have him holding her up.

“Which is, dear Lord, so stupid.” He kicks his office chair out of the way and it’s loud as it moves across his office and into a bookshelf. His smile is devilish and it sends the flames of hell right into her skin. “So stupid for me to make you think I gave a shit about anyone, but you. That I’d _want_ anyone, but you.”

He spins her so her ass pushes into the edge of his desk and he presses his body against hers and now he has two hands in her hair, pulling her head back. Her neck is exposed and he takes the opportunity to kiss her there, lingering on pulse points so he can bite and suck her skin that’s been craving him.

“Ben,” she breathes, hands feebly reaching for the desk to keep herself up since her legs have become useless from his touch. She has a fleeting thought about all the windows in his office, but it’s gone as soon as Ben bites her earlobe. 

“I’m so mad at myself, and I’ve missed you so much,” Ben growls, his hands finally leaving her hair to slide over her chest and squeeze each breast in hand. He moans, presses into her and his length is hard against her stomach. “So I’ll show you how sorry I am.”

“Here?” Leslie asks, the word broken up by the hitch in her breathing as his hands keep moving. 

“Of course here,” he growls, hands roaming rougher and faster as if he can’t get enough of each curve and plane. “Are you worried someone might see?”

Leslie moans, a surprising sound that catches her off guard. Wasn’t she worried about someone seeing only a moment ago? Now she’s getting wetter and Ben’s hands are pushing up her skirt and she’s thinking it wouldn’t at all if anyone saw them.

Maybe she’d want them to see. See who Ben Wyatt wants.

Ben shoves her skirt up over her hips, hands quick to cup and squeeze her ass. He groans, palms her skin and is a mess of praise, stringing words together in rough tones that send electricity through her gut. 

Finally, Ben kisses her. His mouth is plush and wet from the kisses he left along her neck and the way they move is rough and wanting. Leslie opens her mouth, eager to let him in, swallow all that she’s missed, and he gives and gives and gives. His hands stay on her ass, round to her hips, squeezing, fingers digging into her flesh so hard she can’t wait to find the bruises tomorrow.

Her back bends over his desk as he kisses her harder and harder, the anger at himself, the disappointment, pushing him further and further. She wants to reassure him, but her words wouldn’t do, she knows.

And it feels good, it feels good to be powerless to his love for her.

“You’re perfect,” Ben growls, lips descending down her neck, kissing, licking, sucking delicious bruises along her neck, collarbone, and chest. He takes his time, but each push of his lips and tongue feels rushed and desperate. “Lean back, babydoll, let me see you,” he says, even as he chases her down, as if his brain isn’t cooperating with his mouth. 

Her back arches and she sighs and gasps with his movements. Her hands are slipping on stacks of paper, a pen is under her lower back, but he feels so good. She starts to wonder if she should just quit her job and move here, run away from Pawnee and live fulltime in Ben’s apartment, under his desk, just to chase this feeling of want and lack of power. 

His mouth is gone and there’s a soft tap to her temple. “Quiet in there,” he whispers, lips wet and red with his grin. 

She takes a soft breath and let’s the idea go. It’s ludacris, she’d go insane in the span of 24 hours without a binder to make or reports to file, but the idea lingers like a soft daydream. Sometimes, when Ben is like this, when she’s like this, she can fall into the depths of him, of them. Power is stripped from her and it’s hard at first, but once he takes little by little, it is delicious to give in, like the first bite of a brownie that’s not quite baked all the way, warm and gooey and full of sugar. 

Ben isn’t the first to be this way with her, but he is the first to do it this particular way. With an impressive amount of knowing and understanding her. Only her.

Leslie gasps, Ben’s fingers slipping along her clit with one soft swipe before they enter her completely. They both groan and Ben’s hand moves and strains against her underwear to get at the angle he wants, the depths he’s been craving. Her back arches and he catches her lips just before she lets out a scream.

His fingers crook and he pushes softly into her, in and out. Her legs widen, happy to let him explore. He stops kissing her, whispering for her to be quiet as his forehead falls to hers in a way that allows him to watch his fingers move.

“Fuck, babydoll,” Ben whispers, his breath hot along her chin, her neck. “How,” Ben practically growls, slowing his hand, eyes focused as he pulls out of her, watching. “How could I want anyone, but you?”

With his other hand he tilts her chin up to meet his gaze as he takes his two fingers and places them in his mouth, sucking them quickly, pupils dilated as he pulls them out with a satisfying pop.

“So sweet,” he says.

Leslie’s entire body warms at the praise, deep pinks rising up to meet the soft peach of her skin in a hot blush. Her brain turns soft, melting with his words and the look on his face, all angles and serious, dominant and caring. She wants to drown in him. She is.

She hardly registers the sweep of his eyes along the office before his belt is being unbuckled and his cock is in his hand. She reaches instinctively, mouth watering, but he holds her hand back. 

“Lay down,” he commands and Leslie slowly leans back on his desk, padfolios, iPads, and calculators be damned.

As she descends, there isn’t enough desk for her head, so she holds herself up on her elbows. She watches Ben pump his hand up and down twice before pushing her underwear aside and lining himself up with her. Leslie gasps and bucks her hips.

“So impatient,” Ben tsks, and he would usually tease her, draw out her want until she’s a blubbering, whining mess, but there isn’t time now. There will be time before she leaves, she’s almost certain. She hopes. “I love you,” he whispers. “You’re everything.”

And then he thrusts, completely filling her up in one push. She gasps and her elbows give and she’s flat on her back. He stills and asks if she’s okay, voice rough and strained, but no less gentle. She nods and a guttural, almost primal sound escapes him before he starts to thrust in earnest.

Things fall from his desk and her body slides against papers and leather, His hands grip her hips tight, thumbs digging into bone, fingers into flesh. Praise slips from his lips between curses. 

_So tight, So beautiful, perfect, so wet, look how they fit together, no one could take him like this, he wouldn't want anyone to take him like this, she’s his._

“I’m yours,” Leslie repeats, voice uneven with the movement of their bodies.

Ben groans and his hips speed up, one hand moving to where they’re joined, his thumb pressing on her clit. 

“And I’m yours,” he growls.

His thumb moves in clumsy circles on her clit, but even Ben’s messiest movements feel like heaven. Maybe that’s just them, something only he can do to her.

She let’s go, let’s her body fall limp and take, take, take. Her head falls back off the edge of the desk and for a brief moment the office with its windowed walls and sleek desks and chairs comes into view upside down. Is anyone watching? She wouldn’t know. She closes her eyes and does what only Ben has been able to teach her.

To shut off her brain to thoughts, worries, to-do lists, and reports. And feel.

Ben’s hands on her waist, her hips, his thumb rubbing deliciously along her clit. The way his desk feels underneath her, the gentle sway of her head. There’s a shift of her hips with each push and a beautiful stretch to her cunt as he thrusts, hitting her deep. She feels him along every inch of her and then at the apex of each thrust, hitting a spot Ben has perfected. His thumb moves faster and she feels the build, the way her thighs tremble and her feet stretch. Warmth spreads and a weight lifts while warmth pours over her entire body until she’s stiff and seeing stars.

Ben comes right after her, taking as many steadying breaths as he thinks is allowed before he rushes to help her up, their bodies still connected. He’s careful as he moves them, as if refusing to let them separate, as he takes a few steps back and sits at his discarded chair. She straddles his lap, can feel him softening inside her, but he holds her anyway, she clenches around him anyway. He gasps and tickles her side before she smiles and melts against him.

They embrace each other and her head stays empty, full of softness like pillowy cotton candy. Ben’s face is buried in her neck and his lips sometimes leave the smallest of kisses there, each one leaving a nice spot of warmth that seeps into her skin, into her veins, and travels everywhere. 

“Are you okay?” Ben asks.

Leslie nods. 

“Babydoll.”

Leslie sighs, somehow melting even more into him. “Yes,” she says. “I’m great.”

“Do you need anything?” he asks. “We should go anyway.”

Leslie nods, snuggling into him before pushing back, their bodies disconnecting with a soft sigh between them. She stands on wobbly legs and he helps pull her skirt down before standing and adjusting his pants. 

“A milkshake,” Leslie says, tilting her head, her lips finally softening enough to smile for real for the first time in hours.

Ben laughs and fixes her hair. Leslie brushes lipstick from his chin with her thumb. 

“Oh yeah?” Ben asks, reaching behind her for his padfolio and iPad. His desk is a mess. It makes her blush.

She nods.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you a milkshake.”

With his free hand, Ben slides his fingers to intertwine with hers and pulls as he walks. He lets their bodies bump into each other and Leslie giggles as he kisses the top of her head. They walk out of his office, down the hall, and through the heavy doors to the parking garage like they have the sweetest secret. 

“Hm, and fries. You need some fries to dip.”

Leslie snuggles closer to him as they walk, her heels hitting the concrete with an echo. 

He’s right, she does. He knows her so well and it makes her feel whole. Welcome.

Like she belongs here.


End file.
